Knights of the Old Republic III: The Death of Hope
by scottishace
Summary: The Jedi Exile engages in his final duel with Kreia. But, afterwards, what will happen? Will he and Mira be happy together? Will he journey into the Unknown Regions to find Revan? Read on, to find out. First chapter is half flashback, half real time.
1. Prologue

Knights of the Old Republic III: The Death of Hope

Prologue

Darth Traya

_Their sabres whirled and clashed in the shrouded darkness of the Trayus Core. Only the eerie green and red light cast from below the treacherous platform of the Core lit the faces of the two warriors. One was old, her face horribly wrinkled, her terrifying white eyes without pupils or irises. Her left hand was gone; it'd been sliced off weeks ago, in a different duel, in a different place. Her white hair was braided at her side, and a black hood connected to a dark robe was thrown over her head, darkening her wrinkles with shadow. She wielded a red lightsaber, its blade hissing and crackling as it parried attacks and swung through the air._

_The other combatant was tall and muscular. He had dark blonde hair that was messed, and piercing blue eyes, although his rage had caused them to turn slightly yellow. He had an attractive square jaw, and a small nose, although his face was slightly grey from the dark side. He also wore black robes, billowing as he whirled at incredible speeds, wielding a red lightsaber in his right hand, and a smaller, blue sabre in the other. His face was contorted in rage as he battled. In the Force, he was a conflicted sole, torn between desire to survive and to live a normal life at last, and the will to do the _right _thing. His sabres whirled at incredible speed, an impenetrable shield of Shien as he pressed his aggressive attack, battering down on the defence of the old woman, who seemed as agile as a twenty year old._

_The man's attack became faster, even more vicious. In one easy flick, he locked blades with his adversary and leered at her; he was so lost in the rush of combat, of winning, of power, of the dark side._

_The old woman fell back, blocking a particularly aggressive swing at her neck. The man simply kicked out, knocking the woman back, and, in one easy flick, he sliced the sabre from the woman's only hand. The woman dropped to her knees, holding the sizzling stump that had once been her lightsaber. The man leered, and then extended a hand, still clutching his sabre. The old woman was lifted into the air by her throat, gagging and choking as an invisible Force-grip squeezed her airways shut. Her hand dropped her lightsaber's remnant and clutched at her neck, as her feet kicked feebly._

_The man reached into the Force, drawing on his rage, and then sent a sudden surge of the Force into his adversary. A barrage of twisting sapphire Force lightning shot from his hands, catching the old woman in the chest and electrocuting her. Her body shook violently in the air for the few seconds that the barrage lasted. The man then released his Force grip on her, and let her fall back onto her knees with a thump._

_"Any last words, Kreia?" growled the man, his face awash with rage._

_"I am not Kreia. I am Darth Traya!" The woman choked out the words. _

_"So be it. As I said, I've come to kill you. Prepare to die!"_

_Suddenly, three lightsabers shot from the folds of Kreia's robes, floating in the air through Kreia's Force-grip. They ignited, and their amethyst blades shone brilliantly against the sapphire and ruby glow of the man's lightsabers._

_"ENOUGH!" bellowed the man, sending a shockwave through the Force. The lightsabers, little more than crushed circles of metal after the onslaught, fell to the ground, clattering against the stone floor. _

_Kreia bowed her head, accepting her defeat._

_The man, the Jedi Exile stepped forward, grinning. The tall, fang like supports of the Trayus Core cast a dark shadow as the former Jedi stepped forward, preparing to sever his last tie to the Jedi, to become a Sith, to fall irretrievably into the fiery abyss of the dark side. He stepped forward, crossing his blades at Kreia's throat._

_"Look at me," he commanded softly, his voice quivering with excitement. "I want to see your face, to look into your blind eyes as you die!" _

_"No!" It was a voice from behind him, a familiar voice. The Exile straightened up, his back tensing. _

_"Visas?" he asked slowly._

_"Yes," The voice said from behind him. A woman, glowing brightly blue, stepped forward. A cowl hung over her eyes. _

_"I thought you were dead," The Exile said evenly._

_"I am. I killed myself to save you, and to allow you to save yourself, your friends, Telos, and the galaxy. I didn't realise how truly lost in the dark side you truly were… I was blinded by my servant's love to you. I would not have let you fall so far if I knew," Visas's voice was filled with sadness._

_The Exile, without knowing why, let his feelings pour out of him like a flood. "I didn't know, either. It all started on Telos. I knew, that when I chose to work with Czerka instead of the Ithorians, that I was making the wrong choice, morally anyway. But I had to get off that planet; I hate the thought of being imprisoned, after roaming the galaxies since the Battle of Malachor V, I would sooner die than become locked in one place; a cell, or even a single planet. That was why I chose to work with General Vaklu on Onderon, as well. He seemed to be the quickest way off the planet. But, you weren't there; it was only Atton and the Handmaiden who were there. They tried to persuade me not to, but I personally beheaded Queen Talia; I wanted to end everything once and for all. Then, when Master Kavar arrived, he tried to kill me. I outmatched him, and sliced both his arms off, and then his right leg. I could've stopped then; I'd hurt him enough, But I couldn't. I was consumed by my anger and rage, and it made me a much more competent warrior; not to mention the fact that the power my hate gifted me was addictive. I was caught up in blood fever, and I stabbed the Jedi Master. I laughed as he lay for two minutes, convulsing in pain as he died. Vaklu's guards laughed with me, and I imagine it was a horrible death; in pain, and being jeered at. And he was the only Jedi Master from the Council that survived that I actually _liked_, so you can imagine what I did to the other three. Anyway, I took one of his blue lightsabers. When we left, and headed for Korriban; well, you were there. You saw how I slaughtered hundreds of the Sith Assassins, robbed the tombs, and even tortured that one who surrendered, just for the fun of it."_

_The Exile continued "When we went to Onderon, I went to the crystal cave. I massacred the hundreds of helpless hatchling animals in their eggs._ _I took a red, a purple, a yellow, a cyan, a green, and a silver lightsaber crystal back with me. I then stumbled upon a cave full of mercenaries, and they had Jedi Master Vrook Lamar in the cage! The mercenaries attacked me, and I defeated them, alone. I released Vrook, and considered allowing him to live; I couldn't match him in combat, blade to blade, at least not yet. He snapped at me, and I almost pulled my lightsaber. It was his petty anger at being released by the one he'd exiled that was the prime reason why I joined the mercenaries trying to take over Khoonda, instead of helping the militia to defend it. I pretended to ally myself with the Khoonda fools when the attack began, and betrayed them during the battle, to join the mercenaries. Bao-Dur and Kreia tried to convince me not to, but I didn't care. I helped the Onderon Militia overthrow the Khoonda Government, but avoided duelling with Master Vrook; I fell just short of being able to match his powerful Juyo blade-work."_

_He spoke again. "Well, you were there on Nar Shadaa. How I betrayed being after being, refused to help them in their plight, cut down the refugees begging for money, or dropped them in the Hutt Sector, where they would be eaten alive by Gamorrean guards. The blood fever on that planet, with so much life, so much hate, so much fear, and so much raw _rage _that I reached powers… Such vistas of power that you have no idea. You saw me face off against twenty Gamorrean guards when I went to kill that Weequay in that gas club! I slaughtered them all. Then, in that ring, when I was so blinded by my lust for power that I was captured, but, after I escaped with the help of Atton and Bao-Dur, I learned to control that lust, that desperate need for power. Unlimited power. Because now, after coming to meet Jedi Master Zez-Kay Ell, I had unlimited power. But the foolish Jedi showed remorse, and said he was going to the Dantooine Enclave, to meet with Vrook and Kavar; I hadn't told him the latter was dead. So, I tracked him into the Enclave. This pitiful excuse for a Sith!" The Exile gestured at Kreia. "Came with me, but waited behind as I marched into the Enclave. Master Kay and Vrook were already waiting for me, blades ready. Ell, with his double-bladed purple lightsaber, charged first. They'd planned the attack when they saw that Kavar hadn't arrived; they knew he was dead. Vrook through his sabre at me, and Ell tried to duck so that he would be safe as the blade killed me. I didn't allow Ell to duck; I seized him in the Force, and the blade reduced him to tatters. I leapt out of the way of the blade, and landed in front of Vrook. I stabbed him twice, and hit him with a twenty second barrage of Force-lightning. I then went to Telos, and executed Atris for her scheming with Kreia." _

_The Exile grinned and his grip tightened on his sabre as he continued "Then, that bitch Kreia came running up to me, babbling schutta about wanting to destroy the Force, and then she knocked me out. Atton told me that she'd stolen a shuttle and gone to Malachor V; the planet I DESTROYED with the Mass-Shadow Generator. When we arrived, I saw what was left of the planet; a shell, radioactive and surrounded by broken ships, by beaten bodies. Upon landing, I learned that the Mass-Shadow Generator still had a charge. So, I programmed Bao-Dur's remote to track my bio-signal; if I die, the droid will activate the Generator, and every single one of us on this planet will follow me into death!" The Exile's grin widened. "But, I won't die. I'll claim the mantle of a Sith Lord after I've killed Kreia, and–"_

_Visas cut him off. "And you'll abandon your friends? A Sith cannot have the luxuries of comrades. I saw how attached you've become to them. To the bounty-hunter Mira in particular. If you become Sith, not only will the galaxy be thrown into turmoil with the death of the last Jedi, but you'll be left without your friends."_

_"Silence!"_

_But the words took their toll on the Exile. His face was contorted with indecision as he stood above Kreia, lightsabers humming and buzzing, almost as if they were anticipating the chance to sever Kreia's head from her shoulders._

_"No," breathed the Exile, and he let his blades shrink back into the handles of his lightsaber. "I won't do it."_

_The Exile threw both his lightsabers away, and their clattering sound faded as they plummeted off the Core Platform and into the centre of Malachor. "I'll never be a Jedi. But I'll never be a Sith either."_

_Kreia's looked up from her bowed position. "Fool! You weak fool! The dark side was your path to destruction of the Force!"_

_Kreia shrieked, and a Force-blast shot from Kreia. The Exile was grabbed in the Force and thrown back against one of the Core's fang-like supports._

_Clunk_. The Exile groaned as his head impacted against the cold steel of the support. He slid to the ground, white light blossoming in front of his eyes. He could feel Kreia, her presence full of anger and hate as she advanced, her feet clicking gently on the stone as she prepared to kill her greatest apprentice.

"Mira! Mira!" groaned the Exile. Crimson blood slowly tricked from a cut on his head, and into his eyes.

"Mira can't save you now. We'll all die! You, and your friends, are dead!"

The incredible shock of feeling the Force-lightning numbed the pain for the first few seconds. The Exile's only reaction was to raise an eyebrow as Kreia sent wave after wave of twisting blue energy into his chest. But then the pain bubbled through, and the Exile howled. He felt the horrible, white-hot pain as the lightning burned into him. He squeezed his eyes shut to fight the pain, to use the Force, but found that he couldn't.

He was alone. Alone in the dark.

The lightning barrage ceased after five agonising minutes. Steam rose in wisps out of The Exile's mouth and skin. Kreia's lips parted in a Rancor's smile. The lightning that had flown from her hand had been incredibly powerful, but the Exile was still holding on with everything he had.

Mira! Mira! The Exile called upon his padawan. Kreia had to be stopped. If she survived, she would find a way to destroy the Force. She already could, by extracting a being's midichlorians from his or her body with a Force-power of her own.

The Ebon Hawk had freed itself from the deadly choke-hold between the mountains. The battered white and orange freighter ignited its primary sub-light engines at the command of Mira, and shot up out of the obsidian canyon it'd been contained in. The circular ship half-rolled and plunged down, skimming the surface of Malachor as it evaded outcroppings of rock and wreckage. Atton, Mira, and Bao-Dur sat in tense silence in the cockpit, working the controls frantically as they shot towards their friend.

Kreia advanced, pulling out yet another lightsaber, this time a small silver one. Her expression was one of stone as she raised it above her head, ready to strike.

The Exile extended a hand, and a lightsaber leapt from the pocket of his own robes, hitting his hand with a comfortable smack. He ignited it, and leapt gingerly to his feet, smiling as the blue blade illuminated his surroundings.

The two charged wordlessly, one warrior embracing the light, the other the dark. Their sabres clashed again and again, fizzing and sparking as they sizzled through the air.

Kreia's blade just missed the Exile's thigh, burning a strip down his trouser leg that smoked gently. The Exile retaliated by sweeping his blade in an upward curl. Kreia dodged just in time, and the blade only carved a strip of raw flesh down her chest instead of disintegrating her heart.

Their sabres clashed and locked, fizzling in a cross just in front of each combatant's throat. Kreia pushed with all her might, and the Exile was pushed back, his back bending as his blade neared his throat.

The Exile gnashed his teeth and bent his knees, pushing up with all his might. The sabre lock was broken, and Kreia stumbled backwards, off balance. The Exile kicked out, and his combat boot struck Kreia's hand, sending her lightsaber tumbling out of her hand.

Kreia fell back, until she reached the very edge of the Core. Behind her, there was a deathly tumble into the core of Malachor, and in front of her there was a metre-long bar of pure energy.

"Ah. Now you are stuck," taunted Kreia. "You can choose the right decision, the good decision, and let me live, but you know I'll be back to destroy the Force. Or you can fall to the Dark Side once more, and kill me, at the consequence of becoming a monstrous, hate-filled being. The choice is yours," Kreia smiled sweetly, and spat at the Exile's feet.

"Neither!" growled the Exile. He extended his free hand and gestured at Kreia. Her lightsaber flew from the floor it lay on and landed back in her hand. She ignited its silver blade, and pointed it diagonally downwards towards the Exile, utilising a Makashi ready-stance. "I'll kill you in honourable combat!"

"In there!" snapped Mira, pointing to a large, gaping opening in the ground. Her face was pale with fear, her hair messy. Her hands clutched the control console with white knuckles.

"Really?" Atton giggled nervously, mopping his sweaty brow and twiddling a piece of his brown hair with his free hand. "That big, maw-like hole that looks like certain death?"

Bao-Dur, who'd found a good friend in Atton, smiled. His Zabrak-horns glinted in the light of the spacious cockpit. "Yeah. Reminds me of a space-slug in an asteroid."

A tall orange droid that leaned in the doorway, fiddling with a blaster rifle, spoke in a cheery voice. "Statement: I can't wait to vaporise that old meat-bag. I've spent the past day charging my blaster just to take a pot-shot at that old woman. Statement: She really did annoy me, and suggested my rust patches were a result of my master not caring for me. Gleeful Statement: I look forward to hearing her screams of pain," The droid, HK-47, let loose a barrage of static that sounded ominously like a malicious cackle.

Atton turned and gaped at the psychotic assassin droid, confidently diving into the deep, dark hole without even needing to look through the cockpit viewports.

The Exile advanced, every blow from him becoming like an accusation, a scream, a betrayal. In a calm, Jedi way, the Exile wanted to kill Kreia, but he would only kill her in honourable combat.

The Exile ducked under a blow, spun, and stabbed outwards. Kreia screamed horrifically and tumbled backwards, clutching the charred hole where her heart should've been.

The Exile watched sadly as Darth Traya, once a great Jedi, only to become a manipulative, betraying, calculating Sith, toppled over the edge of the Trayus Core, falling down into the radioactive green sludge that resided in the very core of Malachor V.

A brilliant explosion, a black vortex of dark side energy, thundered up from below as Darth Traya died.

The Exile looked up, seeing a distant speck race down towards him, from the top of the chimney-like pit that ran through Malachor. He could hear the distant whine of repulsorlifts as the _Ebon Hawk_ came into full view, hovering to a stop just at the edge of the core. The landing ramp of the semi-circular ship lowered, to reveal the Zabrak, Bao-Dur, standing along with Mira, hands extended to grab the Exile.

The Exile nodded and activated his comlink as he walked towards his ship. "Remote," said the Exile. "Activate the Mass-Shadow Generator. It's the end of Malachor V. Goodbye, my little friend," The droid beeped an affirmative over the comlink.

The ground below the Exile shook horribly as the Mass-Shadow generator activated. The Mass-Shadow Generator worked by sending out radioactive pulses to rip a planet apart. Anyone still on the plane with a Mass-Shadow Generator five minutes after it activated would be vaporised, as millions of Mandalorians, Jedi, and Republic soldiers had been during the Battle of Malachor V.

The Trayus Core was already falling apart; the platform was already cracking, and one of the fang-supports had collapsed by the time the Exile was safely into the _Hawk. _

Bao-Dur grabbed the Exile and wrenched him inside the ship, grinning. The Exile smiled and shook his mechanical hand vigorously, and turned to Mira.

"Your… Your face!" she said. The Exile frowned and looked at his reflection in a metal support for the landing ramp. The greyish tinge to his skin, and the yellow eyes had disappeared.

In short, he'd returned to the light side.

"I know…" he breathed, and took Mira in his arms.

Atton's voice blared intrusively on the comm. "Sorry to interrupt a tender moment and all that, but we need to seal this ramp and go!" he shouted.

"Sorry, Atton," The Exile smiled, and stepped into the ship. The ramp rose with a whirr.

The Exile realised that Mira was trembling. He drew her closer and whispered. "What's wrong?"

"It's just… No one even knows your name, and I was still so afraid of losing you!" she said, sobbing dryly.

The Exile's face was one of a puzzled man. "It's okay, it's okay," he said reassuringly, at a loss for what to do.

A minute later, the whole crew of the _Hawk, _with the exception of its two dead members, stood in the main hold, listening as the Exile briefed them on what had happened. They were shocked to hear that Visas had returned.

After the Exile finished talking, Atton, like a schoolboy asking a question, spoke. "Where did Visas go?" he asked, wide-eyed.

The Exile could only shrug. "I don't know. That's not the problem. I massacred men, and women. Very few of them were innocent, but I still killed without discrimination on my journey. I don't intend to make the same mistake twice on my next one," The Exile stood up, his eyes smouldering. "I'm going to the Unknown Regions. Darth Revan went there after his redemption, to find a greater threat to the galaxy than the ones we've faced. I'm going to find him, and help him."

The Exile didn't even have to ask if the crew were coming with him. He could feel their desire to follow him in the Force. So he didn't interfere with their decisions.

"What's your name?" Bao-Dur asked as The Exile started to walk towards his bunk in the port dormitory. The Exile froze, his back going rigid.

"Fi. Fi Skirata," he said after a pause.

"Skirata?" The Handmaiden, wearing her flowing white Jedi robes, spoke. She ran a hand through her white-blonde hair. "That's a Mandalorian name!"

The Exile nodded, swallowing. "And I hated it. Mandalorian fathers are, ninety nine percent of the time, strong, loving, and proud. Mine wasn't. Mine surrendered me to the Jedi Order. It's my fiery Mandalorian heritage that makes it so difficult for me to avoid the dark side," he swallowed again. "And my Mandalorian heritage is why I joined the war. To kill my father."

"Did you?" asked Mandalore, speaking with a distorted voice because of his Mandalorian helmet and armour. He seemed remarkably respectful of the Exile's choice, despite being the leader of the Mandalorians.

The Exile hung his head. "Yes. He was among the dead on Malachor."

"Then good," Mandalore's reaction surprised everyone. "He was an embarrassment to the true Mandalorian people."

The Exile smiled, a little relieved, and walked towards the port dormitory. He collapsed into the thin bunk, and was asleep in seconds.


	2. Chapter One: Blur

**A/N: Well, I'm back with a second chapter. An alright chapter, if I may say so myself. I think it sets to tone for what is to follow.**

**A/N 2: There's a lot of foreshadowing in this chapter, so try to read between the lines.**

**A/N3: Thanks for reading!**

Chapter 1

Blur

Fi opened his eyes groggily. His head pounded horribly, and he had a horrible taste in his mouth. His body ached slightly, the after-effect of the Force-lightning attack from Kreia, possibly. His thigh burned horribly where Kreia's silver lightsaber had just nicked his skin.

Fi kicked the thin blanket of the bunk off, and looked at the wound. It was worse than he'd expected. His trouser leg was blackened and curling around the diagonal slash, and the skin was a dark shade of red.

Swinging his legs onto the metal floor, Fi stood up, ensuring he put more weight on his left leg than his right. The port dormitory was a medium-sized, square room, at the very port side of the _Ebon Hawk_. Three bunks, low down with storage racks above them, adorned the side of the room. The doorway at the back of the room led into a pipe-like corridor, where one could either go straight ahead to the Main Hold, or to the right, going by the main cargo hold, the medical station, the utility lift, the garage, the landing ramp, and onwards to the starboard dormitory, which mirrored the port dormitory in ever way.

Fi stretched a little, wincing as his wound burned. The semi-light of the room let him see the occupants of the other two bunks. Bao-Dur, his pale skin generating a kind of sheen, snored slightly, his mechanical arm powered down. The other bunk was occupied by Mira, who slept soundlessly, her red hair falling down over her pretty face. She shifted, and her leather bounty-hunter jacket clicked ominously as one of its concealed weapons clinked against another.

Fi limped into the Main Hold, stretching. In the centre of the large room, was a circular holoprojector. It hummed slightly on standby. Several computer systems, mounted on the walls, shone their light into the room. Corridors branched off in four directions.

Fi whirled as he felt a dark presence enter from the corridor leading to the bridge and the surveillance room. His lightsaber jumped to his hand and came to life with a _snap-hiss_.

Fi brought the blade up to a neutral guard, until he saw it was Mandalore.

"Put it away, Skirata," Mandalore said. His body armour, silver, and his helmet weren't reflecting the light, probably so an enemy wouldn't be alerted to a Mandalorian by reflected light. Mandalore's heavy repeating blaster was strung over his back.

"Sorry, Mandalore," muttered Fi, switching off his sabre and returning it to his belt.

"You're pretty wound up," Mandalore said bluntly.

"And you never take your armour off. Each to his own," growled Fi, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Don't get smart," warned Mandalore. "I could draw my blaster and shoot you to pieces before you could take a step. And your shiny stick would only help me aim."

Fi didn't doubt him; a gunslinger like Mandalore could defeat almost any Jedi. "Really?" Extending a hand, Fi pushed with the Force. Mandalore, despite being a natural warrior, always anticipated a Jedi to advance with his sabre. So he got quite a fright when he saw his repeating blaster rip itself from his back and fly, clattering across the Main Hold.

Mandalore's voice was one of pleasure. "Excellent move. We should play Dejarik someday."

Fi shook his head; he was giving into his anger again, uselessly showing off his power to Mandalore. "Sorry." _Damn. It's not as easy as it looks, this redemption stuff._

Fi casually stretched his legs as he walked towards the _Ebon Hawk's_ refresher.

_A quick shower will do the world of good for my leg, _Fi said, letting the door, which sat adjacent to the medical bay, slid open with a hiss.

Fi stepped into the dark room, not bothering to switch a light on; the Force could guide him. Stripping off quickly, Fi let his grimy robes fall to the floor. he placed his lightsaber on the 'fresher sink, and was about to step into the small shower cubicle when two brilliant yellow lights appeared in the corner of the room.

Fi screamed and leaped back, bumping his head off the shower cubicle's walls and grabbing a towel. The surprised Jedi quickly held the towel over his private areas.

"Statement: there is no need to express shock, indignation, or indeed, any other standard meatbag emotion-slash-response to encountering me in here, Master," said the charmingly neutral tones of HK-47, Fi's rusty and pitted assassin droid. "I was simply practicing my stalker-killer routine," HK-47's voice warmed into a purr. "Sentiment: stalking a meatbag and ambushing him when he is most vulnerable, which is without protective garments or weapons, reminds me of when I was just a new, happy assassin droid, under the ownership of–"

Fi cut him off suddenly. "You told me that you'd developed a sudden bout of memory loss when I asked you about your old masters!" Fi frowned at the two pinpricks of light that were HK's menacing photoreceptors, which provided him with enough orange light to see his surroundings.

"Oh, yes, master. The memory loss seems to have returned. Strange, isn't it? Condescension: perhaps I shall recover in time, and give you the useless information."

"I'll say," growled Fi, "Now beat it. I want a shower."

"As you wish, master."

Atton kicked the navicomputer angrily; it was acting erratically again, shutting down then reactivating time and time again. He cursed at it in Corellian, and used his limited Force abilities to float a hydrospanner across the surveillance room into his hand. The durasteel tool only made it halfway; it stopped wavered and twitched in the air, before dropping to the ground with a clang. Atton grunted and then whipped around, his hand instinctively falling onto the butt of his blaster pistol as a beep sounded at the door of the room.

But it was only the rusty, pitted astromech droid T3-M4 that stood in the doorway, leaning forward on his legs, his head and its ridiculous, glowing photoreceptor spinning. It was tooting amusedly at Atton's lack of control.

"Shut up; at least I don't look like a bin!" snapped Atton.

T3's reply sounded much like; "Right enough, you look like something people put in it."

"Beat it."

Atton sighed and sank onto his haunches as the sound of T3's servomotors faded into the background of the general hubbub that a ship in hyperspace created. The hyperdrive hummed loudly, the exposed wiring in the corridors hissed; even the engines groaned faintly. To many people, it was distracting and annoying. To Atton, it sounded like home.

It calmed him, and his anger faded away into a shadow of frustration that loomed over his thoughts. He'd grown to love the _Ebon Hawk, _despite its many faults and problems, although sometimes it taxed his limited patience when its occasionally dodgy systems failed.

Atton sighed and turned again to the hydrospanner, raising his hand and focusing intently on the tool. It shuddered and one end lifted; the other end scraped across the metal floor as the toll was half-dragged, half levitated, into Atton's hand. But even that exertion was exhausting, and Atton knew he had to improve his Force skills so that they were more than just a slight advantage in a firefight. But before he could do that, he had to fix the navicomputer.

The handmaiden whirled and spun, her Jedi robes billowing as she practiced her Echani combat moves. She'd improved those moves, supplementing them with the use of her lightsaber. Here and there the blade swatted, never pausing, never faltering, much like the flurry of hand to hand moves she also performed between sweeps of her buttercup yellow blade. All in all, she would be a formidable opponent, the Disciple mused as he watched her train. She swooped back and forward, leaping and spinning rolling and diving, around the cargo hold, a blur of white and yellow as she deftly finished her fourth pattern of the hour with a frontflip followed by a wide, arcing sweep with her blade and a lightning fast ankle sweep.

The Disciple started to applaud, slowly and quietly. The Handmaiden whirled, her blade flashing up into a guard, until she saw that it was an ally in the doorway. She inclined her head at the Disciple, who stopped applauding and swiped a strand of his blonde hair out of his eyes.

"What is it?" The handmaiden said bluntly.

"I came to watch you spar. You're very good you know," said the historian.

The Handmaiden bristled and tensed, as if unused to hearing praise, "Uh, thank you."

"Could I try sparring with you, by any chance?"

"Can you handle a lightsaber?" The Handmaiden said, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

The Disciple laughed, "Yes. I was a Jedi padawan once, as you well know."

"I do know," The Handmaiden said. She reached into a fold in her robes and threw him a lightsaber hilt. The Disciple caught it in his left hand and ignited it, spinning it in a Form IV, Ataru, defence.

The blade had belonged to Visas Marr before Fi had given it to the Handmaiden when he'd taken her as his dark apprentice during their expedition to Korriban. Its blade shone a brilliant, bright crimson. The dark side clung to its hilt, a reminder of what Visas Marr, Fi, and the Handmaiden had all been at one time.

Dark Jedi.

The Disciple pushed the thought away and familiarised himself with the weapon. He raised it above his head, just as the Handmaiden sprung forward, her blade stabbing downwards towards the Disciple's abdomen.

The Disciple sensed the attack and pivoted to the right on one foot, spinning round and kicking out as the Handmaiden came down to land.

The Echani warrior saw the attack coming and shortened her leap, landing on her hands and performing a handspring that carried her over the Disciple's leg. She landed but was forced to leap again as the Disciple stabbed at her knees. She spun in mid-air, but a powerful Force-push from the Disciple threw her forward, a twisted tangle of arms and legs, to smash into the wall with a bone shattering crunch.

Her blade shut down with a hiss and rolled away from her suddenly open palm. She was stunned by the Disciple's prowess with a blade, but was too well trained in the Echani Arts to simply lie there, immobilised by surprise.

Even as the Disciple stepped forward, ready to win the sparring match by grazing her with his blade, she pushed her legs against the wall, and rolled backwards, coming up and onto her feet, with her back to the Disciple. She lashed out, her booted foot connecting with the historian's jaw, sending him flying backwards. She didn't summon her blade, didn't let up the attack; she spun around and raced forward, striking the Disciple's forehead with a powerful punch that knocked him flat. She then kicked him hard in the ribs, and then dropped down, straddling his chest and smacking his nose with her outstretched palm.

The Disciple's head banged off the durasteel floor, and the Handmaiden was about to finish the sparring match by knocking him out with an elbow-strike when the Force surged suddenly and she was hurled against the cargo bay's ceiling, pinned against the roof by the Disciple's will.

The Disciple stood up, his legs shaking and his balance poor, both of his hand outstretched in an attempt to keep the Handmaiden suspended where she was. The Echani warrior reacted by pushing back at the Disciple who stumbled and lost his concentration, allowing the Handmaiden to drop lightly onto the floor.

The fight was still friendly, but the moves were becoming more vicious. The Handmaiden's ribs were bruised from Force-pushes, her back covered by a large red mark from where she'd slammed into walls. The Disciple's nose oozed blood, and the back of his head had swollen up with an ugly lump.

The Disciple wasn't distracted by his injuries though. He leapt forward just as the Handmaiden picked up her weapon. Their blades met and the room was filled with sparks. The two of them stood there, toe to toe, their blades flashing and whirling, basking the room in the ambience of the red and yellow blades. There were no pauses, no breaks. The two of them battled, becoming a blur of light and attacking limbs, pulses and waves of the Force occasionally knocking one blade out of line or batting aside a kick. All in all, the Handmaiden had inflicted the most damage, her kicks and punches being more accurate and frequent, though the Disciple would've eventually prevailed, being more skilled with a lightsaber and more powerful with telekinetic Force abilities. But, after twenty minutes of intense sparring, Fi appeared in the cargo bay's doorway, his hair wet dripping; he'd obviously just got out of the shower, judging by his bare feet and the fact that he only wore his thin undergarments.

"What the in the Nine Corellian Hells?" he said, raising an eyebrow and staring at the two sparring partners, who still stood across from each other, blades motionless but still humming and spitting.

"We're sparring, Fi," said the Disciple. It was like a misbehaving child answering to his parents.

"Yeah? Well don't. We've got a lot of blasters, grenades and equipment in here; one wrong move and you'll blow up the whole ship. If you're going to spar, do it in the maintenance bay, and only when I'm there. I don't look forward to the day I hear you've killed yourselves or Bao-Dur in a sparring accident."

The Disciple nodded, his complete obedience to Fi unnerving, and walked out, surrendering Visas Marr's blade to Fi as he left.

Fi stared at the deactivated lightsaber's hilt, his eyes showing immeasurable sadness. He still felt guilty over ordering Visas' death; he'd allowed himself to fall to the dark side, and that was his reward. To kill a woman who'd been on the verge or redemption and salvation.

Fi became aware, slowly, of the fact that the Handmaiden was watching him. He looked up, his eyes glinting with unshed tears.

"Why did I do it?" he asked the Handmaiden, his voice cracking with grief, "Why did I let her die?"

The Handmaiden's response was typically blunt and logical, "Because she was a Sith, and if she didn't die, you may have fallen in the battle against the Sith Lord. If you'd died, the Force would've been destroyed by Kreia, along with all life."

Fi found no comfort in her cold words, "But I might've still been able to stop the Sith Lord! There was a chance I could've."

"But you might not have. You might have died. You might have fallen even deeper to the Dark Side. By allowing Visas to kill herself, you ensured the safety of the galaxy, life, and the Force," The Handmaiden seemed puzzled that Fi hadn't realised that already.

"How… How can you be so cold?" hissed Fi. He felt cold, infectious hatred rising up inside him, like an illness, and he struggled to choke it down, struggled to resist the urge to blast the Handmaiden into a hunk of smoking, charred meat, and resisted the urge to fall to the Dark Side…

"I'm not being cold. I'm thinking logically."

Fi turned and strode away quickly, his mind awash with hatred and grief. he felt vaguely sick… He had to control his hatred!

**A/N4: Was the sparring match enjoyable?**

**A/N5: I'm not sure if I got the Handmaiden's character quite right, but I felt it was okay. Please comment and say how you felt on the matter.**

**A/N6: I love HK-47, so look out for more poorly timed and written attempts at humour concerning him! **


	3. Chapter Two: Ripples of Fear

Chapter Two

Ripples Of Fear

The _Hammerhead _class light cruiser flew past the pirate frigate, just twenty metres of clearance between the two war vessels. Needles of green, blue and red light flew back and forth; turbolasers launched from batteries. Both craft were heavily damaged; their shields, appearing as hazy, shimmering barriers of blue light, metres apart, were failing, and caught only a few of the bolts that were hurled their way. The rest of the bolts penetrated, shattering into the sides of each warship, creating mushrooming balls of flame and hundreds of chunks of debris. The small, narrow Republic light cruiser was listing heavily to starboard, smoke streaming into the vacuum of space from the ship's right engine nacelle, which was emitting spatters of green engine coolant. The main turbolaser battery for the ship, mounted on a high tower above the ship, was gone, blasted off, leaving only a twisted mountain of fused and disintegrating metal in its place. The bridge viewports of the cruiser were cracking under the bombardment; the bridge crew were forced to remain at their stations, however, as the cruiser lacked an auxiliary bridge.

The pirate frigate was larger than the light cruiser. It was narrow, squat, but wide, its rounded grey hull blackened and scorched. Its three engines were glowing only dimly, their systems failing. The hangar bay's main door was twisted and broken in places; flash-frozen bodies were drifting slowly out into the vacuum. But apart from that, the frigate was holding its own, beating the Republic cruiser that had attacked it into submission.

Starfighters, dwarfed by their mother-ships, darted here and there in a ferocious dogfight, the twelve Republic scout fighters pitted against twenty four fighter/bombers piloted by pirates. Out of the original force, however, only eight Republic fighters remained against twenty one pirate craft. Space was littered with debris and vapour caused by laser bolts shearing into starfighters and destroying them.

The lead pirate fighter-bomber flew into a half loop then dived, half rolling and executing another half-loop that brought it behind a pair of Republic fighters. It fired a salvo of laser bolts, overwhelming one Republic starfighter whilst the other one banked and broke away, accelerating and diving into the thin gap between the frigate and the light cruiser, hoping that using its superior manoeuvrability and speed it could slip in between the two capital ships, avoiding the turbolaser fire and escaping its slower pursuer. Unfortunately for the Republic, the pilot had miscalculated, and his craft's engines were nicked by a stray turbolaser bolt. The Republic starfighter careened off, spinning helplessly until it smashed into its own mother ship's shields, exploding against the rapidly weakening and faltering energy barrier.

Another Republic starfighter flew through the gap, attempting the same manoeuvre but with a different tactic. Instead of trying to fly through the gap between the two light capital vessels and escape pursuit, it yawed to the left and slipped through a gap in the frigate's shields. Dodging a turbolaser blast, it opened fire on the frigate's bridge, an extended cylinder that protruded up at a forty five degree angle from the frigate's dorsal hull.

The bridge disappeared in a blossoming flower of fire and plasma, but the pirate frigate's bombardment did not ease in the slightest as it activated its auxiliary bridge and the reserve crew got to work. The starfighter that had destroyed the pirate bridge raced away, dodging a salvo of point-defence laser blasts and heading for safety behind the Republic cruiser's shield. It had almost reached that safety when a well aimed blast sheared away the fighter's manoeuvring thrusters and sent it spinning into the cruiser's hull.

The cruiser rocked visibly from the impact, listing even more to starboard and exposing its weapon-less bottom to the enemy frigate.

The pirates capitalised on the sudden advantage, firing with renewed ferocity. A trio of pirate fighters launched an attack, firing nine concussion missiles into the Republic cruiser's belly. A chain reaction started, interior explosions blasting out bulkheads, hatches and sections of hull as the ship's reactor overloaded with the effort of maintaining weapons, shields, life support, engine power, damage control, and fire suppression.

The Republic cruiser's fire stopped abruptly, and the remaining Republic fighters, numbering just three, jumped to the safety of hyperspace.

The pirate captain, Jacen Katarn, licked his pale, scarred lips as he observed his quarry through a view-screen in his quarters. The Republic cruiser had all but surrendered; the crew had shut down shields, engines, and weapons in an attempt to restart the no-doubt failing life support systems. A well-aimed final attack could destroy the Republic cruiser, but that was not part of Katarn's plan. He needed what was left of the cruiser intact; not functional, but intact. If the Republic crew survived, that was a bonus. He would use them as labourers back at his base.

Katarn raised his comlink to his lips, "Auxiliary bridge," he spoke with a clear, educated, Coruscanti accent, "Launch our boarding party, and order our fighters and gunners to stand down."

"Yes sir," replied his aide, who was standing in the auxiliary bridge, commanding the battle, "Anything else, sir?"

"No. That is all."

He did not congratulate his crew or his pilots. They'd been incompetent enough to allow the main bridge to be destroyed. That was a major setback…

Heads would roll. Literally.

It had been a decisive victory though. And the captain and main crew of the enemy cruiser were still alive; he could feel ripples of fear emanating off of them as they awaited death or capture.

Could feel them in the Force.

Katarn took a few seconds to thank whatever higher power there was that he hadn't been discovered by the Jedi or the Sith as a youngster. That he'd been allowed to discover his own power himself.

That he'd learned how to use that power through his own initiative, not through an order of hippies-turned-soldiers or a brotherhood of gothic nutcases who liked to electrocute people.

Katarn saw, in the dim reflection of his viewport, an image of himself. He was tall and gaunt, with a pale face and sunken, shadowy eyes. He wore a black pirate's uniform with red trim, and his hair was black and combed greasily to the side.

He looked like a Dark Jedi, but saw himself as the only person in the galaxy who knew how to use all aspects of the Force.

He could use the Light Side and the Dark Side.

He could use them both to his advantage, and that made him unique. He was not blinded to the other by overusing one. He could use them both, use them to give himself power, and wealth…

Fi sat down heavily on the bunk, letting his head fall into his hands. In his head, the image of Visas's final moments played, over and over again.

_"Visas!" screamed Fi as he darted under a fast blow, raising his crimson blade to parry yet another slash, "I can't do this!"_

Yes, I can… _Fi realised as the unnamed Sith Lord he was battling backflipped away, his robes fluttering. _But not for sure…

_"Master…" Visas suddenly realised what she was being asked to do, and her voice failed her for a few seconds, "I understand. Master…"_

_She dropped the blaster rifle she'd been using to blast at the Sith Lord, and pulled out her short violet lightsaber. She ignited it and wordlessly plunged it into her chest._

_The sizzle of charred flash filled the bridge as Visas dropped to her knees, a strangled cry of agony and anguish escaping her lips. Her lightsaber hissed, the blade shrinking away as she dropped the hilt and collapsed onto all fours. A gaping, glowing hole filled the space where her Primary Heart had once been. She had a minute or so of life left, as her species' characteristic secondary heart kicked in._

_But it only prolonged her agony…_

_As soon as Visas' blade had plunged into her heart, the Sith Lord had toppled wordlessly to the deck of the cruiser, convulsing in pain. Fi stepped forward, his greying face a mask of hatred and rage, his black robes billowing, his red sabre held high above his head as he grabbed the Sith Lord in the Force and lifted him unceremoniously into a standing position._

_Then he extended his left arm, dropping his short blue lightsaber. He held his hand evenly, fingers splayed out, and focused the energy of his hatred, feeding it into the Force…_

_A salvo of Force lightning shot forward, thicker and faster than any that Visas had ever sensed before. The Sith Lord took his punishment without words, twitching only slightly despite the white-hot agony that scorched his very bones._

_Visas knew of the agony, because, through the Force-bond with her Sith master, she felt it too…_

_She screamed, slumping into a lying position, flat on her face, her arms and legs flailing, her mouth open in a scream as the lightning's torture flooded into her. Her very soul was on fire, feeling the hatred and rage that filled Fi's existence…_

_Suddenly the lightning stopped, and Visas heard Fi's blade hum, and knew that he'd just decapitated her master. _

_The agony ceased. She felt herself begin to float away, the healing energies of the Light Side floating into her body… She was becoming one with the Force…_

_Fi saw Visas's body as it began to fade, blur, and glow with white light. NO! He wasn't finished yet… He reached into the Force and seized Visas' fading presence, anchoring it into the world of the living with his iron will._

_Visas became clear again, and she stared up at him, her blind eyes not truly seeing, her hand clutched over the burning wound in her chest._

_"Master… At least, at the end, show me emotion… Hatred, contempt, or love… I don't care which. Just emotion. Please. It is all I've ever asked for."_

_Fi paused, seeing an opportunity to allow his dark side powers to grow, and seizing the opportunity, "I feel nothing for you Visas. Now go into death, as unloved as you were in life." _

_Visas nodded, accepting her fate, her emotional pain filling the Force, "I understand, Master. I am nothing. You are everything…_

_My life, for yours."_

_With that, Visas' body began to fade again, until there was nothing left but a pile of clothes, a cowl, a blaster rifle, and a lightsaber. _

_Fi felt his power surge and grow, and a grin grew on his lips. He turned and strode away, past Mandalore, who stared at Visas' remnants with more than pain from the loss of a comrade emanating from his presence… _

"WHY?" screamed Fi, leaping up from his bunk. The Force gathered within him, and he let it out in a scream, a wave of anguish that rocked the _Ebon Hawk _and sent everyone inside it tumbling to the deck. Mira, who'd still been sleeping on her bunk, clambered up from the floor and stumbled, dizzy towards Fi. She reached him and touched her hand to his shoulder, but another scream from Fi sent her tumbling away into the corner of the cabin.

Fi's rage then vanished, and he turned to Mira, tears trickling down his face, "Why did I do it?" he hissed.

"You didn't!" assured Mira hurrying forward, "The Dark Side did."

Fi barked a harsh, dry, mirthless laugh, "No. I did. Who chose to slaughter Kavar? Who killed innocent civilians? Who butchered Sion after he found redemption? It sure as hell wasn't the Dark Side! It was me."

Mira reached out and he took her in his quivering arms, "You were influenced by the Dark Side…"

"Exactly. Influenced. _INFLUENCED! _Not controlled. My judgement was clouded, but I went ahead with it anyway!"

"You're powerful, Fi! Every powerful Jedi knows the lure of the Dark Side!"

"I didn't see Zez-Kai Ell going on a psychotic rampage, and he was powerful. Even when he knew I was about to kill him, he didn't surrender to his rage!"

"He was fully trained! You were just a Padawan when you went and took on the entire Mandalorian Army. You needed power, and fast, and the Dark Side was the quickest route to it. You saved trillions of lives the first time you turned; your choice was wrong, morally, but correct logically. So the second time you fell, it was because you were going back to old habits!"

Fi swore, "A _habit? _I butchered over a thousand people during our journey. Because of a habit!"

Mira sighed, "You would not believe how easy it is to fall back into old habits."

Fi sighed, his body sagging, and all fight left him, "When did you change from a cold as ice bounty hunter into a philosopher?" he asked weakly, his eyes showing a beaten man making an attempt at wit.

"The same time you showed me the light," whispered Mira.

Fi snorted, "You found that path yourself."

"No. I followed you. Where your path takes you, I follow."

Fi gazed into Mira's resolute eyes and felt an astounding love for the woman, "You certainly have a way with people…"


End file.
